


All The Lonely People

by NightxWriter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst and Humor, Bisexual Tony Stark, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Clint Barton Made a Different Call, Fluff and Smut, Gay Steve Rogers, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, M/M, POV Multiple, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Stony endgame, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Tony initially hates Steve, spans over mcu, tags will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-24 23:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightxWriter/pseuds/NightxWriter
Summary: Tony Stark hated Captain America. As a child, his father spared him of classic Brother’s Grimm fairytales.  Instead, he was raised on stories of the one and only super soldier, Mr. Steven Grant Rogers.“He was a miracle, Tony.”“There will never be anyone like him, Tony.”“You would’ve loved him, Tony.”He disagreed. This Captain America character didn’t seem interesting at all in Tony’s eyes. Being flawless and good at everything doesn’t inherently make you a good or riveting person. All Tony pictured was a personality-less cardboard cut out in an ugly costume, who said his lines and flashed a million dollar smile with canines that would sparkle like a cartoon. There was no part of the soldier that could possibly engage the young Stark, until he finally got a decent look at him.





	1. Here, There, and Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is a new fic, partially inspired by Walking the Wire by emquin, go check it out if you get the chance! This fic spans over most of the MCU and more, but with AU bits scattered about. I hope you enjoy...
> 
> (All dates are according the the MCU Collider Timeline)

**1991**

Even after all the decades, Howard Stark spent the majority of his time thinking of possibilities that Captain America could be out there somewhere, alive. He had to be, right? He was created for this exact purpose, to survive something like the crash of the Valkyrie. If he was alive, all that needed to be done was to find him, and Howard was keen on doing just that.

Captain America was not only a symbol of, well, America, but the epitome of goodness. Steve Rogers was the model of a man that most wanted to become, and Howard Stark was no exception. Captain America and S.H.I.E.L.D had become what his life orbited around, and he tried everything in his power to replicate who the soldier was. When Howard realized it was a level of morality that he was past the point of achieving, he decided he could attempt to push the persona onto his son.

Tony Stark hated Captain America. As a child, his father spared him of classic Brother’s Grimm fairytales. Instead, he was raised on stories of the one and only super soldier, Mr. Steven Grant Rogers.

“He was a miracle, Tony.”

“There will never be anyone like him, Tony.”

“You would’ve loved him, Tony.”

He disagreed. This Captain America character didn’t seem interesting at all in Tony’s eyes. Being flawless and good at everything doesn’t inherently make you a good or riveting person. All Tony pictured was a personality-less cardboard cut out in an ugly costume, who said his lines and flashed a million dollar smile with canines that would sparkle like a cartoon. There was no part of the soldier that could possibly engage the young Stark, until he finally got a decent look at him.

A dusty photo laid at the bottom of a cardboard box in the attic of the Stark’s Washington estate. Tony went into the cobweb infested room searching for scrap metal parts when he found a medium size box with “Rogers” written across the top in a thick black marker. Tony’s blood began heating at even just the sight of the name, but a strange desire pushed him towards it.

The box was filled with old journals, sepia pages grey with viscous layers of dust. The papers were filled with doodles, of which were surprisingly well drawn.

_“Could these drawings be from the Captain himself?”_ Tony wondered.

Under all the journals and various papers, was a stack of photos, one of which stood out to him. It was Captain America, but without his typical cheesy and ostentatious garments. In fact, he was wearing close to no garments at all. His upper half was naked, and even through the black and white he could tell that his skin glistened with sweat. He was surrounded by people in lab coats, all with astounded expressions plastered on their faces. All he could assume is that this picture took place right after being injected with the famed serum. This was the moment he officially took the mantle as the world’s super soldier.

There was something about the photo though, that drew Tony in. He couldn’t stop...staring. The man made him feel a sort of way, an inexplicable way. He was attractive, that much was obvious. But this was a different sort of attraction. He could appreciate a man that was societally deemed as handsome, but this filled Tony with a newfound desire for something…

He ignored the strange twist that occurred in his core and backtracked. This was the man that he despised, the man that took all of his father’s attention away from him and his mother. He refused to admire him or hold him up to any sort of pedestal like Howard had.

While his family life was incomparable to some, he had an incredibly loving mother and a father that worked hard to give him the best life possible, he resented that Mr. Roger’s had a spot at the dinner table every night while he felt sometimes that he himself didn’t belong.

Tony recalled the memories while staring up at another picture of the Captain, 11 years later. The feelings flooded back to him. The conflicted way he felt about the soldier, how he infiltrated their lives and took away the time with his father that he didn’t imagine would have been so limited.

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, causing him to quickly turn around. Peggy stood behind him, smiling softly. Her hair was much more grey than it had been last time they’d seen each other, about a year ago.

“I love that picture,” she spoke, her voice breathy.

In the photograph, Steve had his arm flung over Howard’s shoulder. The two were caught laughing, presumably at something occurring off camera. His father looked so...genuinely happy. Tony couldn’t remember the last time Howard had smiled or laughed like that towards him.

“It is a good picture,” Tony responded.

Peggy leaned in closer to Tony, then met his eyes with sorrow painted across her face.

“Tony, I couldn’t possibly imagine the pain you are enduring, just know we are all here for you. You don’t need to do this alone...and you definitely don’t need to turn to alcohol to cure your wounds.”

Tony was taken aback by the comment, and scoffed at the words. For a moment he was going to combat the accusation, but he knew Aunt Peggy would be able to read right through the act.

“...How did you know?” He asked sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes.

“I could smell it on you, for Christ’s sake. You must be bathing in it.”

Tony looked down. He’s admired her for his entire life, and he couldn’t bare to look into Peggy’s eyes and see pools of pity staring back at him. He looked up, for just a moment, to see Rhodey approaching them.

Peggy turned around to face him, leaning in for a hug. The two had met at Christmas 1989, about 2 years ago. This year was the first he hadn’t celebrated the holiday. Instead he spent it in an alcohol induced coma on his living room floor. When Rhodey came home that night and found Tony passed out face down on the shag carpet, his first dreaded thought sent his heart plummeting down his stomach - that his best friend had buckled under the grief and killed himself. His next feeling was annoyance, once he pushed the man over onto his back and threatened to take him to the hospital, which he refused in typical stubborn Stark fashion.

“You take care of him, OK?” Peggy pointed a stern finger at Rhodey.

Rhodey nodded.

“I’ll try my best, ma’am.”

Peggy gave Tony one last hug and kiss on the cheek before leaving the hallway back into the ballroom to reminisce with the other guests about the full lives of Howard and Maria Stark. They’d accomplished lots, but not nearly as much as they could have. Tony thought about all the chances they’d lost every day.

Rhodey walked up to Tony, leaning his back against the wall. His hands fiddled with his skinny black tie.

“I already called Jarvis, asked him to take us home. Figured you’d had enough for today.”

Tony smiled slightly and nodded. Rhodey was the perfect friend. He somehow always knew exactly what Tony needed at the time. The two walked back into the ballroom together and Tony said his goodbyes and thank you for comings to all the guests he had the energy for, before walking out and into the sleek black car that Jarvis had waiting for them.

The ride back to the Stark estate was silent, as most things had been recently. Aside from Christmas day, Rhodey had been staying with Tony at the house in Washington. Tony insisted he would be fine on his own, but Rhodey knew otherwise. He feared what Tony would have done, all alone in that ginormous house, with nothing but his thoughts and remnants of his recently deceased parents.

As they got into the house, Rhodey headed right for the couch, needing a rest after an entire day of conversing. Meanwhile, Tony headed for the place that had been most familiar to him recently - the bar. Rhodey rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off the couch, fastly approaching Tony.

“OK dude, this has to stop.”

Tony had already popped the cap off of a bottle of Smirnoff.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard exactly what I said. The drinking, when is it going to end?”

Tony slammed the bottle down onto the surface, his face beginning to flush and his breathing kicking up the pace.

“You’re really going to judge me right now? You have no clue what it’s like...no fucking clue!”

His voice began to crack, and he turned his head to face the ground in the opposite direction of Rhodey. He wouldn’t let him see him cry. He’d never let anyone see him in any position. He refused.

“They don’t get to live the rest of their lives, so don’t waste yours.”

With the final comment, Rhodey turned around and headed upstairs to his room before he could catch the look on Tony’s face. Halfway up the spiral staircase he looked down, only to see Tony lift the bottle up to his lips and take a sip.


	2. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**2000**

Natasha Romanoff was _the_ spy. The Black Widow. There were few things in this world that got past her, and this was not one of those. She knew she was being followed 8 blocks back, but continued walking. Her fingers twitched, ready to whip out her gun any second.

The man that trailed behind her, thinking he was sly, was Clint Barton. He had no interest in what was about to happen, but he knew it was what had to be done. Still, he couldn’t believe it though. She was skinny and gorgeous, with long, curly scarlet hair that elegantly draped over her body, and matted bangs. Her stride reminded him of Laura’s, his girlfriend back at home. He knew it wasn’t wrong, Fury never gets these things wrong, but there had to be more to the story. Did she have partners? A whole team of people committing these atrocities? It couldn’t have been her alone…

He’d been following her for exactly a week now. Watching her every move. He’d memorized all her mannerisms, little things like how she pours the milk before the cereal (which was insane in his opinion, but then again, she was a mass murderer). Witnessing her simply act like any other human being somehow unnerved him more than hearing about the supposed offenses she had been committing.

Clint began thinking out loud, directly into the mic that lead back to headquarters.

“We’re sure this is the girl, right? This chick is just...I don’t know, this doesn’t feel right…”

Nick Fury’s voice boomed into the earpiece.

“Is it ‘cause she’s a woman, Barton?”

Clint was flustered by the response, and quickly jumped to his own defense.

“Wha-what? No...no of course not!”

Fury shot back instantly.

“Then man up and do your job!”

Clint rolled his eyes and continued tailgating the deceiving assassin. Clint had killed multiple people before on S.H.I.E.L.D’s orders. Of course they weren’t exactly experiences he’d say he’d enjoyed, but they didn’t fill him with remorse either. One less mass murderer off the streets...that was a fate Hawkeye was OK with. There was something about this specific mission though that just felt...different. For once he wasn’t sure if he had it in him to go through with it.

They’d finally reached their destination, Natasha’s apartment, where Clint followed, far behind but not too far to lose sight. Once he saw her enter her complex, he quickly ran across the street to the building opposite hers, approaching the roof where he had his spot set up. It was time.

Natasha unlocked the array of locks and deadbolts on her front door and pushed it open with her hip, proceeding to close it behind her with her heel once she entered her apartment building. She could feel the man watching her, though she didn’t know where the gaze was coming from exactly. She moved towards the large window in her living room and pulled a white compact mirror out of her pocket. She held it out in front of her face and angled it in different directions, looking for anything suspicious in the background. Low and behold, a shadowy figure sat on the roof of the building behind her, squatting in the darkness, most likely awaiting her demise. With a smirk she turned around, putting the compact mirror back into her pocket. She pushed the window open and looked up at the roof of the building.

“Wanna come inside?” She shouted, waving to the figure.

A frigid quiver went down Clint’s spine and his eyes widened. Shit.

“How is everything, Hawk?” Phil whispered through the earpiece.

Clint anxiously tried to force words to come to his mouth, but they wouldn’t.

“Uh, I, uh-everything’s looking good, Coulson.”

He turned off the comms after responding, likely much to the dismay of the 2 men on the other line.

“Well?” The assassin persisted.

He could do it right now. She didn’t appear to have any sort of firearms on her, and it was clearly too far of a distance for knives or batons. But for some reason, every muscle in his body resisted, and instead lead him down the stairs of the building and to her apartment. He knew the exact floor and room number she was in, all he had to do was not get himself killed.

The door was slightly ajar once he got there, and he hesitantly pushed it open with the back of his hand, slowly creeping into the room. He kept his hand tightly clutched to his bow, his other hand free to grab an arrow at the speed of light like he could do.

Somehow, even though he thought he had the upper hand, he found himself pinned to the wall within seconds. Subconsciously, there was clearly a wall he had down. What was it about this case that had him so unbalanced?

The redheaded assassin was inches away from him now, and she was much more beautiful up-close in person, but also appeared incredibly younger. Fear spread across Clint’s whole body.

_How old was this girl?_

She didn’t look like she was even 20. Her forearm was pressed against his throat with enough force to keep him pinned to the wall. She was much stronger than she appeared, that was for sure.

“So you wanna kill me?”

The way she stated the question was almost seductive. He finally realized how easy it would be for her to be an assassin. All she needed to do was flash a smile, whisper some sweet talk and she had every disgusting, pervy man drooling with a leash wrapped tightly around their necks, her own personal lap dogs.

“Well...yeah, that is kinda what I’m here to do…” He retorted, with a hint of Barton sarcasm.

Natasha didn’t respond well to his smart ass-y answer, instead she just pushed her arm harder into his throat.

“Then why haven’t you?”

Clint, partially distracted by the increasing difficulty to breathe, thought about the answer. Why was it that he hasn’t killed her yet? Any other criminal would’ve been dead days ago. Instead, he sauntered into Romanoff’s apartment, basically wearing a neon sign above his head saying “Kill me!”

“I-I don’t know…” He managed to grunt through his currently distorted windpipes.

Natasha stepped back, opening herself up to the man in front of her. She didn’t feel fear in the moment. Just acceptance. Everyone was going to die one day, and she knew she would die young, so why not make it now?

“Do it.”

Clint stared up at her, eyes squinted.

“What?”

“I said do it! Kill me!”

It wasn’t a challenge - it was a plead. Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. She wanted to die.

“I-How old are you?”

Clint loosened his grip on his bow.

She stared directly into his eyes, face blank.

“I have no age. I am not a person - I am a weapon. Now do your job, kill me.”

The two stood in silence, barely moving until Clint dropped his bow to the ground.

“No. You’re a child.”

Natasha finally broke the eye contact, staring at the ground and scoffing.

“I am no child. I am the Black Widow. I’ve killed many and will continue to if you don’t kill me first - so I’m telling you to do it.”

Clint shook his head. There had to be alternatives, there had to be. He couldn’t kill this girl - she wasn’t the monster they had all thought she was. She was just a kid! A kid who had clearly been traumatized - he didn’t want to think about the horrible things that she’d been through.

He’d been told stories of the Red Room while prepping for this mission. Stories of little girls being taken away from their homes and turned into deadly, trained assassins in a covert Russian espionage program. And now, he had one of them standing in front of one of them - presumably the most skilled and successful of them all.

“No.”

The Black Widow had broken her deadly facade. Natasha felt her eyes begin to well up with tears, her lip quivering uncontrollably.

No.  
No.  
No.

Don’t let them see.  
Never let them see.  
You feel nothing.  
Feel nothing.  
Feel nothing.

“What?” The word shakily slipping out, barely audible.

“No. I refuse to kill you...I have a different idea.”


End file.
